Numb
by Phoebsfan
Summary: It was snowing, not the first of the season and certainly not the last.  But she wouldn't see it.  Couldn't see it.  The whiteness blinding, but not enough to block out the red.
1. without sensation or the ability to move

Numb

Phoebsfan

Rating: T

Disclaimer: I owe no one.

Summery: It was snowing, not the first of the season and certainly not the last. But she wouldn't see it. Couldn't see it. The whiteness blinding, but not enough to block out the red.

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**numb**: –adjective

1. deprived of physical sensation or the ability to move

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It wasn't supposed to happen, he thinks as he recalls the situation again and again. It haunts him during the day and keeps him from sleeping well at night. He can't figure out how things went so wrong or if it was his fault. If something, anything, could have changed the outcome.

Each minute is burned into his brain. Each second accounted for. Each heartbeat measured. But still he can not decide.

She wasn't wearing a vest.

But it was routine. It wasn't like they were storming the killer's lair. It wasn't like there was any danger. All they were doing was going to ask some follow up questions because of his theory. They did it all the time.

Except this time there was danger. This time the average and safe wasn't so average or safe.

Because this time their killer knew that their person of interest had information that could lead to his capture. This time their killer was smart and careful. Professional. This time he was going to add another kill to his list to protect his identity.

She would have told him it was just an accident. The wrong time at the wrong place. She would have told him that because they were there, another innocent life was saved. But she would have been wrong. The girl was dead before they got there. The killer got there first.

She would have told him that wasn't what she meant. That because they got there and stopped him, he could never kill again. Because she did stop him. Despite her own injuries, she got him. And normally that would have been enough. His cold dead lifeless body on the ground a few feet away. Eyes open in shock, bullet through his heart.

But it isn't enough, because before she took him down, he shot her.

He keeps thinking that if he had stalled, insisted on a cup of coffee. If he had kept his theory to himself for a bit longer. If he had insisted on backup. If he had done something... then she would not have taken a bullet. Their killer would have escaped before they'd arrived. He would not have felt it necessary to take her out before fleeing the scene because she wouldn't have been there in the first place. Someone would have been watching their backs.

In reality he knows they had no reason to bring backup, no reason to stall. He had no reason not to share his theory. But it still burns all the same.

He can still smell the gunpowder, the blood. Like a fine mist of it coated the inside of his nose. He can not get it to go away, and it's been a week.

An entire week since she looked over at him and rolled her eyes. Since he heard her use his name in that way only she did, like it was a curse word instead of a name.

An entire week and it feels like it happened twenty minutes ago.

He remembers joking with her when they got out of car. Joking about how if this panned out she was going to owe him five bucks and she would be the one bringing him coffee.

'In your dreams.' she'd smirked as she slammed her door close.

Except in his dreams she didn't bring him coffee, she got shot. Again and again, her blood pooling on the hardwood floor in the hall. Dark and thick as it ran down the corner of her mouth.

In his dreams he tells her how stupid she was for getting shot. Tells her, if she thinks she's going anywhere he'll hunt her down and kill her himself. Tells her he can't lose her. But no sound comes out.

In his waking hours he doesn't leave her hospital room. Sits by her bed as she sleeps on. For hours, for days. They tell him she lost a lot of blood. She nearly died and isn't quite out of the woods yet. They tell him she might never wake up.

And he wonders what she dreams about.

He hopes she isn't reliving the nightmare that has been his for the last week. Hopes in her head there is music, not an awful void filled with a gunshot and a fading heartbeat. Hopes she is warm and safe, not cold and lifeless.

His phone rings and it's Gina. They fought, she wants to come by and make it up to him. Take him out to dinner and tell him it's okay, she understands.

But she doesn't understand.

He doesn't want to leave Kate's side. He doesn't belong out there, having fun while his Nikki Heat suffers alone. He is right where he needs to be and Gina is the last thing on his mind. He doesn't care if she is hurt that he can't leave Beckett's side. He doesn't care if she's jealous. If she thinks he's in love with another woman.

It's all just trivial bullshit with Gina. It always has been.

So he doesn't answer his phone for her. Only for Alexis or his mother.

Alexis understands and his mother is his mother. They come and sit with him. Alexis every day after school until she sends herself home, like a responsible parent. His mother less often, but enough for him to know she understands and cares. They talk quietly. Play chess. Read. But mostly they just sit with him and tell him what he already knows.

That Beckett is going to kill him if he spends anymore time avoiding life.

Alexis brings him his laptop and he writes.

He tells her he loves her. To be careful. That he'll come home tomorrow.

She tells him he better, he's starting to stink. But then she hugs him and lets him hold her until he's ready to let go.

Ryan and Esposito stop by at least once a day. They force him from her room, telling him that he'll be the first to know if she wakes but that he needs to go find something to eat and get out of his filthy clothes.

Most of the time he just wanders the hospital until they leave. Alexis brings him food and clothes. He doesn't need to leave. But he understands why they make him leave the room.

It's not helping him. Watching her sleep, waiting for her to wake. None of it is helping him forget what happened that day.

How the elevator was broken, so they hiked up six flights of stairs. Her in those ridiculous heels, and much better shape. How she ribs him about visiting the gym when he puffs up the last few. How he fires back that he's in excellent shape and nine out of ten ladies would agree.

The hall is long and empty... or so he thinks. The apartment they want is the last on the left, across from it the wall turns to form an alcove with access to the broken elevator, allowing their killer to hide across the way and wait. In the heat of the moment, he probably ran for the elevator, forgetting they'd gone down. He'd been to her place hundreds of times, was so used to the route he forgot. Then they had shown up and pinned him in.

Castle still recalled the pounding of Beckett's fist against the door. The silence that greeted them. The way she looked at him like she knew something was wrong, could feel it. That split second before he heard the crack of a bullet leaving a gun. The way Beckett's finely honed instincts had freed her gun and fired as she spun to face the noise.

The look of shock as their killer crumpled to the ground.

It was over in seconds, heartbeats. But no matter how many times it played in his mind, it felt like hours. He could see the way her hair flew out of the way as she swung around, each individual strand crashing into the next in that instant. Could feel the tightness in his chest as for an instant he thought they might not make it.

'Great shot.' He had been impressed, had moved to kick the killer's gun away and had instead found their killer was no longer breathing. Had been about to take it back and tell her it was an amazing shot, about to turn around and laugh off the nerves and adrenaline, when he heard her fall to the ground behind him.

'Kate!' He made his way to her side and knelt, grabbing her and lifting her slightly. 'This isn't funny.' the fear in his voice evident as he pulled a hand from her back and it came away slick and red. His heart sinking in his chest. His stomach turning like he was going to be sick.

She smiled weakly.

'Pretty badass, huh?' she gasped, choked and blood came bubbling from her lips. Her eyes were heavy, they kept drifting closed as he pulled his cell free with his blood coated hand and franticly called for help.

'Not even close to funny, Becks.' She smiled again as he relayed information over his now blood coated cellphone.

'Mmm, you're right.' Her face screwed up in a painful grimace. 'Hurts like hell.' she gasped and coughed again, sending even more blood through the hole in her back, down her chin.

'Shut up!' He yelled at her in fear. 'You're making it worse.' He pulled her onto his lap, pressed his lips to her hair. 'Don't you dare even think about it.' He threatened as her head rolled to the side and her body slumped against his.

'...be fine. Couldn't let him shoot you too...' She murmured.

'Help is coming. Now you really owe me.' His heart was pounding as he watched her fade out. 'No. Stay awake.' He yelled. 'Wake up.'

But she didn't.

Not as paramedics came and tore her from his arms. Not after she had been through surgery to repair the damage to her broken body. Not after hours. Days. And it was starting to look like maybe she never would. Maybe her brain had gone too long without the oxygen it needed. Maybe she would be forever trapped in slumber.

Maybe his theory, even if it was right, had killed her.

He swallowed the lump in his throat. Turned his eyes from her bedside and stared blankly out the window.

It was snowing. He watched as the flakes blew in the wind, quietly coating the window ledge. All the world on pause. It was snowing, not the first of the season and certainly not the last. But she wouldn't see it. Couldn't see it. The whiteness blinding, but not enough to block out the red.

In the distance he could hear the traffic. Could always hear traffic in the city. Horns honking, tires squealing, these were the sounds that lulled you to sleep. That steady stream from a city that never slept. He wondered if she could hear it, if it comforted her in her new world.

The hospital was cold, always cold. So he reached over and tucked a blanket more firmly around her. His fingers lingering.

Wake up. Please. He begged silently before turning back to the window.

He lied to the nurse.

She tried to kick him out and he lied.

Told her that Kate was his fiancée. It was the only way she would let him stay.

In reality, he was the man who got her shot. Dating another woman entirely.

He thinks they all know he lied. He knows Alexis knows, she plays along with him because she knows he isn't ready to leave yet. One day he'll have to. One day he'll have to face the world again.

She is in good hands now. Lanie comes and talks to her, her father stops in too. They all come and talk, but he can't.

He hasn't said a word to her.

He's too mad at her. Too afraid talking to her will make it real. Not ready.

How could she do this to him? After everything they'd been through, now she was just going to quit? That wasn't his Beckett. His Beckett fought. His Beckett would wake up and tell him to stop being so creepy. To go home, she'd be fine.

She'd kill him for lying to the nurse. Ask him what Gina would say about it. And what about Josh?

Josh who stopped by once, because he's a busy guy. A doctor. Doesn't have time.

It makes sense that she would date him. She didn't have to be open to him. Didn't have to be herself.

Because he only stopped by once. How much could he love her if he couldn't even make time to sit with her? How much of herself could she give a guy who wasn't available to give herself to?

He wasn't dating her, they weren't in love. But he hadn't left her side without force.

She deserved that and more.

And because of him...

He turned back to look at her and jumped.

She smiled at him weakly, her eyes open and alert.

"You look like hell." Her voice was rough from not being used. From tubes being shoved down it for days.

"That's funny, you're the best thing I've seen all day. Welcome back." He grabbed her hand and squeezed and she looked down at their joined hands in confusion.

"I didn't go anywhere." She denied the unvoiced accusation.

"Whatever you say, Sleeping Beauty." He pressed the button for the nurse. "Whatever you say."


	2. manifesting or resembling numbness

AN: I just wanted to thank everyone for the overwhelming positive response. I'm glad you're all enjoying it.

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**numb: **- adjective

2. manifesting or resembling numbness

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She doesn't remember it. Any of it.

When she wakes up and he is by her side she is confused. He looks so lost, and unlike himself. It's unnerving the way he sits staring out the window, waiting for something she doesn't know.

All she knows is that her back is on fire and she wishes she didn't wake up. That she could still be asleep. She takes a mental inventory, wiggles her toes, clenches her fists. Determines that all her faculties seem to still function, even if moving and breathing sends sharp jagged pain tearing through her.

The nurse comes in and asks if she's in any pain. She wants to say no, wants to put on a brave face. She doesn't want to look like she is less, not in front of Castle. She's getting the picture that he has been worried enough about her. She doesn't want to make those creases in his forehead any deeper or add to the bags under his eyes.

But she knows that playing like she can't feel anything won't help her heal.

"Yes." She admits and Castle squeezes her hand. She keeps expecting him to let go and decide to leave her side. But as the nurse promises some better medicine and rushes off, he stays.

"What happened?" She asks after a moment.

"He was waiting for us. He shot you before we even knew he was there." He looks away and she can tell he is remembering it. Can tell that it has haunted him.

But she feels nothing. There are no memories. No reasons for her to relive any of it. All she knows is that she woke up with a hole in her back and a very clingy Rick Castle at her side.

"What about Franklin?" She asks, worried that after everything their killer got away.

"Even with a near fatal gunshot wound you kick ass. You took him down quite impressively actually. Good riddance." He spits out the last, like even that much is toxic.

She wishes she knew what to say to that. Those magic words that would take the venom from his words and soothe over his troubled countenance. But she knows that there are no magic words. Knows that watching your partner heal is harder than being shot. She's been there, on the chair next to the bed. Waiting for confirmation of life. So she simply nods.

She never thought she would be the one in the bed. She was good at her job, worried that if anyone ended up in a hospital bed it would be him. He was reckless, he was the one who always found himself in the wrong place.

The nurse comes back with a syringe, injects something into her IV and promises that it shouldn't take long. As promised, the pain diminishes and her eyes grow tired.

"Go back to sleep." Castle murmurs softly. "I'll be here when you wake up." He promises and she lets the black numbness take her over.

When she wakes, she doesn't know how long it has been. But Castle is wearing new clothes and he appears clean-shaven and fresh. She feels grimy and gross and would kill for a shower.

But the pain isn't as bad this time. No longer feels like she is being sliced in half with each breath. Merely, impaled.

Alexis is sitting with him. He's playing poker with her and reminding her when she gets too excited that: "Kate is sleeping. She needs her rest."

She smiles. It's kind of sweet that he's looking out for her.

Ryan and Esposito stop in her doorway and catch her eyes. She quickly shakes her head and holds one finger to her lips. She doesn't want him to know she is awake yet. Wants to watch a little longer without having to hear the sadness in his voice when she asks him how long she has been out. What the doctor says.

Because she's sure he knows everything. Despite the fact that he is not her first contact and shouldn't have any power over medical decisions. She wonders how he even got them to let him stay.

"Dude, you showered." Ryan teases as he comes into the room and slugs Castle on the back.

"Bout time. Shaved too. Something good must have happened." Esposito quips.

"She woke up earlier." Alexis beams.

"And if you don't keep it down, she's going to wake up again." Castle whispers loudly. She closes her eyes tightly as he looks over to the bed.

"So you're practicing..." She peeks out the corner of her eye and finds they have all turned back to the poker game. "...so she doesn't kick your sorry ass when she wakes up again." Esposito gestures to the game.

"She is going to have a lot of free time." Ryan defends Castle. "And she has a better poker face than he does."

"That's what she wants you to think. But she is completely transparent, once you know what you're looking for." Castle boasts.

"Is that so?" She asks from the bed and he jumps. She laughs and then thinks better of it as she starts to cough and pain blossoms into a somewhat fearsome inferno in her lungs and chest.

Castle rushes over to her side and helps prop her up a little, holds out a glass of water, and makes her feel helpless. She swats his hand away, and he somehow manages to keep the cup from spilling all over the bed.

"I'm fine." She bites out. "I'm not helpless."

She sends him a warning look and he backs off. She doesn't want him babying her. Doesn't want any of them thinking she can't handle this herself. She's been shot, she's not dying. She doesn't need them holding her hand. What she needs is sleep. What she needs is the truth.

What she needs is to remember what happened so that she doesn't have to feel so bad about what he's been through and she can't remember. So that she knows what to feel.

She was supposed to keep him safe. And even if she was the one who was shot, she's not stupid enough to think that it couldn't have been the other way around. That she was lucky, or unlucky, that the bullet found her and not him. But it doesn't change the fact that she failed.

The room is tense. No one knows how to act around her after she practically bites Castle's head off.

She should thank him for staying with her. For saving her life. But she can't. Not now. Not in front of everyone. She's an awful person for pushing him away when it's obvious he's been a mess.

It's snowing outside and she wishes she were out there. Out where she could feel each flake on her skin. Her cheeks rosy with the chill in the air, not the fever that she's sure is setting in. Out where she could feel alive again, free. Not trapped in a small room with the stench of the hospital closing in around her and the people who love her anxiously watching and waiting.

She doesn't know what they are waiting for. Why they keep watching. What they expect.

She can't give them anything when there is nothing. No insight. No feeling.

Her body aches and she wishes the nurse would come by and send everyone home.

Alexis breaks the silence first and she loves her for it.

"Come on, Dad. I think it's time we go home." She offers softly as she steps up to her father and takes him by the arm.

"But..." He objects and searches her eyes frantically for permission to stay. She wants to grant it, if only to hear his story.

"Yeah, we should get going too." Esposito adds. "We just wanted to stop in to see how you were doing."

"And to give Castle crap." Ryan smirks.

She smiles. She's glad she doesn't have to explain to them. Glad they understand her desire to be alone.

"Thanks for stopping in." She finds her manners long enough to give a proper goodbye and they leave.

Castle is still hanging on to the side of her bed like he has no intention of letting go.

"I'll be out in the hall." Alexis says softly as she lets go of her father's arm.

"Thank you. He won't be long." Kate replies and Alexis gives her a smile. Her eyes light up and Beckett thinks she got that from her father. That trick of lighting the room with a smile.

"Kate-" he begins to argue with her before the door closes behind his daughter.

"No." She interrupts. "No, I'm fine. I'll be fine. But right now I just want to sleep. There is no reason for you to sit her and watch me do that. It's creepy. Go home, Castle. I'm not going anywhere."

He struggles with it. She doesn't know if it's the notion that she's not going anywhere, or the desire to stay that he wars with more. She doesn't care to know either. It's too complicated and she feels like her body has been put through a shredder.

"Promise me." He says simply, his face serious. His hands clench the rail of her bed. White knuckles she has the urge to kiss. She blames the drugs. "You scared me, and I don't scare easily. So, I'd really appreciate it if you could refrain from dying in the next little while."

"I'll keep it in mind." She teases and he frowns. She's never known him to turn down a joke before. It worries her that he's so serious. She needs him to be carefree. She needs him to joke and play.

He scares her. Makes her worry what the doctor will say. Makes her wonder just how close to death she came.

"I promise." She says softly and he smiles.

"Good, cause that would have been an incredibly lame way for Nikki Heat to die." He teases as he releases his death grip on the bed and pulls back. Hiding behind the humor.

"Get out of here already." She groans and as he walks away she jams her finger down on the call button. A dark haze dancing at the edges of her vision.

The nurse comes prepared and administers more of that delightful drug that spreads the numbness through her veins.

As she drifts off though, she sees his face and wishes she hadn't made him leave. She doesn't really want to be alone.

Not like this.


	3. incapable of action or feeling emotion

**AN: Update info. and more on Twitter, just follow 0Phoebsfan0. Thanks again for all your feedback! **

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**numb**: -adjective

3. incapable of action or of feeling emotion

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He thinks she is upset about the wrong things.

They released her from the hospital early, too early. But she fought with them about not needing to stay. Fought with everyone about being better. Then tried to sneak off to her crappy month-to-month hole in the wall to heal alone.

He offered to take her home, and she declined. Like declining was a viable option. So, he let her call a cab. Let her sign herself out against medical advise. He even let her try and get in the cab herself; her small bag of personal items at her side, the weight of which caused her obvious distress. He resisted the urge to help when she bent to put her bag in the taxi, and a sharp hiss of air escaped through her clenched teeth as the bag slipped from her fingers and tumbled to the pavement. Bit his tongue and crossed his arms as she used the side of the cab to slide to her knees so she could retrieve the bag.

The cab driver got out then, and hurried around to the other side to help. Castle watched as she declined his help as well. Surprisingly polite, her refusal of Castle's help had gone far less so, including that angry tone and the harsh glare he was so familiar with. It was when the driver got back in the car looking back to him for help with the situation while she still knelt on the ground, trying to toss the bag at the car, that he broke.

'I've got it.' she bit out as he took the bag from her hands and set it in the cab.

'No, you don't.' He squatted down and put his hands on her waist, his eyes serious. Her hands landed on his and fought to pull them off. He only tightened his grip, his fingers digging into her hips. He could be just as stubborn.

'Put your arms around my neck.' He ordered as she stared him down, weighing her options he was sure. Trying to decide just how she could prove to him that she didn't need his help. 'Cut it out, Detective. I don't care who you are or what you want, I'm not going to sit back and pretend that you can do this on your own. You aren't alone. So stop acting like you have to be, and put your damn arms around my neck so I can help you up.' He had been angry with her. Pissed that she seemed intent on injuring herself further. Irritated that she refused to stay in the hospital longer.

It had been snowing all day, the pavement was wet and cold and he knew her pants were soaked through from where her knees rested against the ground. Knew she had to be freezing and in desperate want of another pain pill. Probably already thinking about a nice warm bed and the solitude her place offered, but she still hesitated.

'This doesn't change anything. I'm fine. I'm going home.' She whispered raggedly as she reluctantly wrapped her arms around him and cried out as he helped lift her back to her feet. Her exhausted body crashed into his. He wanted to rub his hand up and down her back soothingly as she buried her face in the crook of his neck, gasping for air and trying almost heroically to collect herself and fight through what he was sure had to be a hellish amount of discomfort, but he knew if his hand strayed ever so slightly it would not be comfort he offered only intensified pain. So he turned his head instead, rested his lips so slightly against her hair. His hands still securely gripping her hips, his back against the side of the cab.

And then she had let go and backed away. That small moment where she had let him hold her, doing more for his troubled soul than he thought possible. And like that—like all their shared moments—it ended too soon.

He watched as she struggled to get in the cab and close the door. She gave the driver directions for her place as he came around the back of the cab and slid into the seat next to her.

'What do you think you're doing?' She had objected, that stubborn tilt to her jaw not enough to hide the tired look in her eyes.

He had told her to let him see her home and settled at least. Her back would thank her for letting him carry her bag. Reluctantly she agreed, then the cab driver had taken off. He watched her for a minute out of the corner of his eyes. Watched how she gripped the door, white knuckles. Her other hand a fist at her side as she tried not to lean back into the seat.

The sudden urge to take her hand, carefully uncurl her fingers and place his lips to her palm then wrap her fingers in his, slipped up on him and struck him over the head.

He suggested another pain pill to distract himself from the urge, and she had been forced to agree to the painkiller as well. After the trauma with getting into the vehicle, he knew she was being stupid and trying to act like it didn't hurt, her clenched jaw and pale skin would have given her away if her clenched fist and awkward position hadn't. So she had downed the pill with a bottle of water from her bag, and had quickly faded out enough to allow him to correct the address she had given the driver, redirecting them to his place.

There had been no way he would have let her stay by herself. He had been glad that he didn't have to come up with excuses for why he couldn't leave her place. Glad that he could avoid her place, and the mess that would have come with it, altogether.

She had been so drugged and out of it when they had arrived, that it had been relatively easy to talk her out of her wet pants (though it was far from the picture he had in his head about getting her out of her pants.) and into resting in his freshly made bed for a bit. (When Lanie called him to let him know she was making a jail break, he had swapped the sheets and asked her to stall so that Kate wouldn't escape before he got there.)

He wasn't entirely sure Beckett even knew where she was as she settled on her side and he tucked the covers around her, her eyes already half closed. But he also knew that eventually her meds would wear off and he would feel her wrath for his trickery. He decided he didn't care how loud or long she yelled at him, this way she wasn't alone. This way he wasn't alone.

Instead of her wrath however, he was surprised when she woke up and stumbled out into the living room where he sat with Alexis watching a movie, with a rather level headed detective.

'This isn't what I meant by home.' She said simply as she sat next him.

'Get used to it. You're staying.' He replied.

She hadn't fought him since. Well... verbally anyway.

She sleeps in his bed. He sleeps on the pull out couch.

She zones out in front of the tv. Sleeps long hours. He sits by her on the couch and writes. He watches her out of the corner of his eye. He wants to pull her close and hold her. He wants to tell her that the thought of losing her terrifies him. Haunts him at night after the sun has gone down and he can't sleep out on the couch. Haunts him when he knows she is sleeping over his head, in his bed, a place he has wanted her for so long.

His mother and Alexis help her with things he can't. She doesn't let him help her with much. Doesn't let anyone help her with much actually. But she still can't reach the middle of her back where the bandage covers the entry wound. Still can't tape her own ribs.

The bullet grazed one before passing through her lung and lodging in the back of another, causing it to break. An inch to either side and she would have been dead. He tries not to think about that, but can't help but remember whenever he looks at her stiff movements.

All he is allowed to do is provide her with shelter and food. She doesn't even let him bring it to her in bed. Insists on sitting at the counter in the kitchen, or the table. Insists on carrying it to the couch with the rest of them. Like she's trying to prove something to him.

It drives him insane the way she refuses to act like a woman who narrowly escaped death. How she wants to advance her physical therapy schedule. How she insists on getting up every morning and pretending it never happened.

She won't talk about it. When he asks she tells him she doesn't remember. And perhaps she doesn't, but there are a number of other things she doesn't do anymore either. Like laugh or joke with him. Like smile or talk.

He wants to do something. Anything to get her back to herself, but he doesn't know what do do so he watches her quietly. The shell of the woman he loves. It's like she refuses to feel anything. Afraid one emotion will lead her down a path she doesn't want to go, so she cuts the rest of them off as well.

He knows the pain is awful. He has caught her hunched over taking quick shallow breaths. Caught her squeezing her eyes closed and counting. And he sees it in her eyes daily. But she doesn't admit to it and doesn't slow down to compensate for it.

He knows her doctor isn't happy. But he has no way of stopping her, short of tying her to the bed and telling her she's there for the long run.

She calls daily to ask when she can go back to work. She doesn't think he knows. Doesn't think he knows it's the only call she makes. Doesn't think he notices that she doesn't ever want to see anyone when they stop by. That she pretends to be asleep, or asks Alexis to tell them she is. They have been spending a lot of time together, and while it warms his heart to see the way Kate cares for his daughter and his daughter shares those regards, he worries that she is using his daughter as a buffer for him.

It's easier for her to talk to Alexis, because she doesn't demand things like he does. She doesn't tell Beckett no, or have to be the bad guy. He envies his daughter's ability to just be the fun one, a role that has always been his.

But Alexis is just as worried as he is about her, and is also on his side. He hates that his daughter has taking on spying and reporting to him about her behavior when he has to leave the house. So he avoids leaving as much as he can.

Gina won't take his calls anymore, not that he cares much. She's right, he doesn't love her. Not like he cares about the woman sleeping in his bed.

And he knows that Josh hasn't stopped by to see her. He's almost certain he hasn't called either.

His mother informed him she caught the tail end of one of Beckett's private calls to him shortly after she first moved in with them. It ended somewhere along the lines of: Have a nice life. And no one has seen or heard her on the phone with him since. Though he has to admit he is dying to ask Esposito to check her phone records to verify it.

He can't decide if she scares him more now than when she was asleep. Lanie tells him that she has seen her like this before, a very long time ago when they were both still learning the ropes. She compares his empty Beckett shell to a girl she knew ten years ago. A girl who was fighting tooth and nail just to keep her head up and not let the world swallow her.

She tells him to give her time. That if anything can help her, it's just being there for her. She tells him to let her read some of his new stuff. She tells him not to give up on her, that she came out alright the last time. And she hints that he has done this for her before, even if he didn't know it.

He still doesn't know what she means by that. But he can guess when he finds Kate sleeping with one of the first books he ever wrote spread open on her chest, two more stacked on the floor by his bed. He asks her about it when she wakes up and she shrugs it off and says she's bored and wants to get back to work. Reading about it is as close as they'll let her get.

But he sees the way she carefully closes the book and sets it by the bed, her fingers lingering a little too long on its surface. Her eyes darting back to it as he tries to open a new conversation.

He wants to tell her that he is here. That he is better than any of his damn books. But he knows she doesn't want him to talk. She just wants to use his words as an escape. Though he doesn't know from what. She swears up and down that she remembers nothing and gets angry when he pushes the subject, so he doesn't know why she seems to be running from the situation.

She lived, but part of her is not with him. Part of her never woke up. He doesn't know what scares him more, the fact that she might not ever be herself again or the fact that that doesn't seem to bother her.

He wants to shake her. Hard.

He feels like nothing he says or does reaches or touches her. Like he's screaming and no sound is coming out. Just like his nightmares. His reality has been consumed by his night terrors.

He feels too much and she feels... nothing as far as he can tell.

So he decides to change that.

One way or another he vows to make her feel something. To make her yell. Make her scream. Make her cry. He needs her to...

No, he just needs her.

It's as simple as that.

Their friendship, relationship... whatever... really boils down to one thing.

He needs her.

She is more than his inspiration. She is more than any words could ever capture, and trying to do so has left him with a shadow of the woman she is. He doesn't want to write about Nikki Heat and Jamison Rook, he wants to live breathing Detective Beckett. Wants to run his fingers over Kate's skin, through her hair, not over the cold keyboard on his laptop. He wants to hear her voice, not the clickety clack of his keys.

Nikki Heat is no longer enough.

But this... isn't. Well, it just isn't. Not what he wanted. Not what he planned. Not enough either.

He needs her. All of her.

It takes losing her to see that. To see that as bad as he thought it was last summer, as much as it hurt to see her with another man, he would do it again in a heartbeat if it meant he could have her back. It's almost enough to make him dial Josh's number and beg him to come and pull her out of hiding. But he knows it wouldn't work.

If he can't pull her out of it, then Josh doesn't have a prayer.

When he catches her packing her bag. He asks her how she's going to tape her own ribs.

She tells him she's fine.

He pokes her lightly and she crumples in on herself, then he begins to empty her bag again and asks when she took her last pain pill.

* * *

She feels helpless and without direction.

They won't let her come back to work. They won't let her live alone. They keep telling her she just needs time to heal. To process. To deal with the emotional fallout.

But there is none. Not this time.

He won't let her do anything.

She tries to help him cook dinner and he banishes her from the kitchen.

She tries to do her laundry and he takes away the basket and tells her she isn't supposed to be lifting heavy things.

She tries to...

It doesn't matter what she tries to do. He is always there telling her no, and it's driving her crazy.

She wants to tell him no too. Wants to tell him: No, she isn't broken. No, she isn't blind.

No, she doesn't want to talk about it for heaven's sake, and won't he please just be that guy who followed her around and cracked dumb jokes. Won't he please just stop playing the over protective mother hen.

She feels guilty.

She feels like she failed.

So she pulls out his books and looks for an escape.

He doesn't judge her from his books. Doesn't look at her with those sad eyes. Doesn't ask anything of her. Just lets her listen. Just lets her be.

She knows he thinks she should show more emotion. She knows he thinks she is denying some part of herself because she refuses to talk about it. And maybe she is, but she doesn't see a point in trying to assign feelings to something she can't remember. She has already assigned enough of them to the story he told her.

He tells her there is nothing she could have done. But how does he know? How can he be sure?

He could have been the one needing help. She could have lost him and it would have been her fault.

She feels that every day. Feels it too much. Too deep.

It's why she tells Josh that she can't see him anymore.

It's why she pretends not to hurt. It's why she pushes herself to get better and leave.

Last time... he hurt her.

Last time... he made a fool of her.

She can still taste the sourness of his goodbye. Of Gina. Of getting her own coffee. Of that phone never ringing and his chair always empty.

She doesn't care if a bullet tore through her body.

He tore through her life.

So she pulls away from him and tries to deaden her heart. Tries to stop feeling. To be as numb as she pretends to be. But she feels it, just under the surface waiting for him to push the right button. And she knows that eventually he will find it.

Which is why she needs to leave him.

Because she can't fall apart on him. Not when she needs to be strong. Not after she failed at protecting them. She won't fail again.

Because Castle can't become like her mother. He can't be the man she... the man she...

He just can't die because she failed. That's all.

So she vows to resist the urge to give in. Even if it means she loses him for good. At least then he doesn't become another name on a tombstone. At least then Alexis still has a father.

Her life is too dangerous and she has proven that she is not infallible.

She is incapable of controlling anything else.

So when he asks her if she wants to play poker with him... when he asks if she wants him to invite their friends over... when he asks if she wants cheese on her sandwich or if she 'would please just talk to him about it...'

She tells him.

No.

And sometimes it doesn't hurt.

Sometimes she doesn't feel anything at all.


	4. lacking or deficient in emotion

**numb**: -adjective

4. lacking or deficient in emotion or feeling; indifferent

* * *

Over time things change. He doesn't know when, but little by little she needs him less. And as her body heals she starts letting people back in.

Well, everyone but him.

Lanie takes her out occasionally. They invite the whole gang over for poker. She starts seeing a therapist more regularly and the books she seemed so attached to have been put away.

But she's still indifferent to him.

She'll spend hours talking with Alexis or helping his mother in the kitchen with one of her rare and often messy dinner experimentations, but when he sits down next to her, the light goes out.

He's trying hard not to be offended.

On a more positive note, as time passes his night terrors seem to make a far less frequent appearance. And the more time he spends with Kate, even a closed off protective Kate, makes the fear of losing her less real as well.

He knows that it's time to say something, or do something to bring her back to his corner.

Because he is running out of time.

She hasn't tried to leave him since he unpacked her bag. She hasn't hinted at needing more space or wanting to end her extended sleepover. As she has gained more mobility, and become more independent, she has become more like her old self. He'll catch her giving the boys a hard time about a case, though she has not been allowed to return to work yet, somehow or another Ryan and Esposito have taken to calling or stopping by and asking her what she thinks about something. He knows they don't necessarily need her help, and he knows she knows that too, but he's grateful that they care enough to know it's something she needs.

He doesn't know what he did, why she won't joke or play with him but will sit on the couch next to him and fall asleep on his shoulder. Why she refuses to talk to him, but will spend countless hours listening to him ramble about nothing. Why she claims to need her independence, but shows no sign of actually wanting it.

It's fascinating, watching the everyday side of Kate Beckett. Seeing her stumble down the stairs in the morning, hair still mused from sleep in her cute little pajama pants and an over-sized tee. Catching her laughing with his daughter, giving his mother a hard time about something. Hell, even watching her fold her laundry sends a nice warm glow racing through his blood.

She fits in like she has always been a part of the family dynamic. Like this is her home. But he's still terrified that she'll wake up one day soon and realize that she doesn't need him anymore.

"When is Alexis coming home?" She asks as she wakes from her cat nap on the couch next to him. Her head on the opposite arm of the couch, her feet in his lap as he balances his laptop on one knee.

"She's with Ashley, probably not for awhile." He answers as he sets his laptop on the coffee table in front of him and grabs her foot, rubbing tight circles into her arch. "Why?"

"I was thinking of soaking in the tub, but getting out tends to be a problem and your mother will be out for the rest of the evening." She explains.

"Roger?" He asks. Roger is the current in his mother's long line of men.

"Yeah." She confirms. She thinks it's funny that his mother is more of a player than even he is. Finds it highly amusing that it irritates him from time to time.

"She's worse than a teenage boy." He rolls his eyes before continuing. "I could help you." He offers, knowing that if he stays useful then the likelihood of her leaving shrinks.

"It's not just that. My ribs are a little sore tonight and taping them helps." She offers slowly, like it's a suggestion for him. He smiles.

"You know Becks, I'm surprisingly good at basic first aid as well, but I thought you were done with that?" His eyes narrowing as he gives her that look. That, I-know-better look.

"I am, mostly..." She says sheepishly, knowing that he is on to her.

"But you overdid it today didn't you?" He brings out the big guns, and she knows she's caught. But she'll never admit it.

"No. I didn't."

Next time she'll have someone else carry that box of books back down to his office. And maybe not spend so much effort on his stationary bike... Oh and it was probably too early to try and work any heavier weights into the routine. Experience is often the best teacher though. She never would have found all of that out if she hadn't tried.

"Why Detective Beckett, I do believe your pants are on fire." He teases.

"What were you writing about?" She smirks, giving him that coy look he loves so much as she sits up and pulls her feet from his lap, trying to change the subject.

"The next chapter of your book." He picks his laptop up before she can get to it.

"Can I read it?" The way she looks at him, all hopeful and innocent, is too much to deny. He lets Alexis read most of it, why shouldn't she be allowed the same privilege?

Except that when she reads it he wants it to be perfect. It's kind of a tribute to her, to them, and he feels like showing her the unfinished bits takes the magic from the experience.

"It's not done." He says simply. She sticks her bottom lip out in a fetching little pout.

"Please. You've locked me up here with nothing to do. The least you could do is let me read a little. You know you want to. You're just dying to find out what I think." She pleads scooting a little closer to him on the couch.

"You think so?" He raises one eyebrow.

"I know so, think about it. If you let me read it now you won't have to lurk around bathroom doors to try and catch me reading it later. Or... you know... wonder if maybe I already have. I do know where you keep your laptop, and I am rather good at solving things. Your password should be a piece of cake." Her voice has taken on a soft gravelly tone, that parts of him find very pleasing, but he's no fool. He knows what she's up to, and he's not about to let her win.

"Catching you trying to find that sex scene was by far one of my better moments. I'm pretty sure you are the one who should be embarrassed by that little incident. And you'll never figure out my password." He states plainly as he closes the laptop. She scoots even closer and grabs his arm, he looks down at where she holds him.

"Oh Ricky, that's so cute. Remember last week when you went out to pick up some groceries and left me and Alexis home watching tv?" The smile on her face just gets bigger as she leans in, her nose just inches from his.

"Yes..." He hesitates.

"Well Apples, I think Alexis may have spilled." She lets go of him and backs away as she delivers the punchline. No longer playing the sexy femme fatale. Moving on to 'I told you so.'

"What! She's supposed to be on my side. How did you get her to tell you?" He demands, surprised that she was able to get his daughter to spill. He would have to talk with Alexis about boundaries. And he just knew the two of them were up to no good.

"I didn't. But that wasn't hard to guess. Thanks for confirming it." She laughs. "You should have seen your face."

"I'm changing it, right now." He grumbles as he opens the laptop again and types something on his keyboard.

"Go ahead, I dare you. I could use a challenge." She folds her arms and sits back, propping her feet on the coffee table.

"You won't get this one." He's determined and she thinks it's a cute look for him. His fingers flying over the keyboard.

"Silly man. You should never underestimate me. I thought you knew that by now." She sighs.

He looks back at her and hesitates for a moment. She's right, she has some serious game, and doesn't know when to give up. It doesn't matter what he changes it to, she'll figure it out if she really wants in.

"It does seem like kind of a pointless endeavor doesn't it." He admits.

"Mmmhmmm." She nods.

"If I print this out you can read it while in your bath." He offers after a moment, realizing that she would win eventually anyway, and being smart enough to know when to give in. There are other things on his laptop he doesn't want her finding.

"You just want to stop me from snooping, and possibly see me naked." She tosses out as she pulls herself to the edge of the couch, placing her feet on the floor.

"Well yes, but I promise to keep my hands to myself." He smirks, openly leering and implying that his eyes don't make the same promise.

She smiles as she stands.

"How are you going to help me out of the tub if you keep your hands to yourself?" She questions, looking down at him with a raised eyebrow and an incredible come hither smirk.

"So you're giving me permission?" His eyes wide.

"I don't know, I guess that depends on how good that chapter is." She throws at him with a laugh as she starts walking toward the stairs.

"You're such a tease, Beckett." He groans as he stands.

"Print the damn thing already. I'm going upstairs to fill the tub, you can slide it under the door." She says, pausing at the end of the stairs.

"Do you need help with your shirt? I would love to help you remove it." He teases, walking around the couch on his way to his office.

"Don't push your luck." She groans.

"What about your pants?" He calls to her as she climbs the stairs.

"I bet you've just been dying to help me out of those." She pauses momentarily, rolling her eyes as she tosses out her retort, then starts back up.

"Already did, the first night you slept in my bed, but I wouldn't mind repeating the experience." He boasts and she rolls her eyes.

"Poor Ricky, delusional and forced to play with words instead of women."

She leaves him laughing and runs the bath. He slides a thick stack of papers under the door a few minutes later and after she settles into the bath she picks up the papers and devours them.

She has been dying to read his new stuff. It's one thing to know he is writing it, another to sit next to him and watch him. His fingers quick and sure over the keyboard, forceful at times, tender and slow like a caress at others. The way he smiles and laughs as he writes, or the way his brow furrows and his eyes cloud over.

He has been writing about Nikki Heat and Jamison Rook, alright. Jamison is terrified that something has happened to Nikki because she isn't answering her phone and no one has seen her. Nikki is, in fact, in danger and Jamison storms in at the last minute to save her. They reunite briefly and Nikki brushes Jamison off. But Jamison, is not one to let it go, so he arrives at her apartment later that night and Nikki invites him to her bed without any words.

They share a quick and almost violent pairing that leaves both of them feeling alive and reassured. It's more graphic than he usually writes, and she has to wonder if he always writes that way and edits it out later, or if this is new for him. She's not sure how to feel about it.

She knows why he wrote it. She feels the same way, terrified she'll lose him, desperate to feel safe and alive again. Still, she hopes it never makes it to the book. It is too private, too meaningful for general consumption. She can't help but wonder if he pictures them when he writes Nikki and Jamison together. She will admit to herself that this particular piece feels more like them than any of his other stuff has. There has always been a noticeable difference between her and Nikki and him and Jamison, but as she reads through the papers once more, the water in the tub turning cold around her, she can't help but notice that this time it feels like them and not his characters.

Maybe she is delusional. Maybe she is reading more than he intends into it.

She won't lie to herself and say she hasn't toyed with the idea. Sleeping in his bed, living in his home, being surrounded by him at all times, isn't what she thought it would be. There was a time when she thought it would drive her nuts, but it has been surprisingly relaxing. Easier than she thought it would be, and almost natural.

It scares her that it's so easy, even when she's fighting him. She knows that she could just let him in, and that if she did it would be the end of everything. There would be no return from that. For all her pretended indifference, it wouldn't take much for her to crack and spill all her secrets out. Part of her wants nothing more than to lay her load at his feet and hear his soothing voice whisper that he had it. That it was alright now, he would carry it for as long as she needed.

She has to keep him safe though. Has to keep herself safe. She knows that last spring wasn't all his fault, and that no one looks at her like she's an idiot for wanting more. But she's still so scared she'll lose him again. It hurt. He had gotten under her skin, passed her defenses without her even noticing, and then he was ripped away like a band-aid taking little pieces of her with him.

She isn't the kind of woman who plays games or gives herself to just anyone. She's careful. She's cautious. Protective of her heart and those she loves. It takes a lot to win her over, it scares her that Castle does it so easily.

But she's also not the kind of woman who lets fear stop her. She's not afraid to try new things. She can make grown men cry. Stares down hardened criminals daily without a second thought.

So why is it that a writer has her second guessing?

Because he could have died.

Her mind refuses to stop. It plays over and over on a loop in her head every time she wants to let him in again.

You could have lost him.

Alexis could have been without a father. Martha without a son.

And she can't put her own wants over his family's needs.

She knows it's irrational. Knows that it was an accident and he didn't even get hurt.

Knows that she's filling in the void with unfounded fears, because she can't remember her own trauma. Filling in the blanks with fears she understands. Things she knows. She wonders if things would be easier, if she would be less frightened for his wellbeing, if she could remember exactly how it happened.

Or if that would just make it worse. Would knowing there was something she could have done to change the outcome make her feel more responsible for his wellbeing? Or would knowing she was helpless make her feel even more out of control?

There is very little she can control. She knows that is part of her job, part of life. But when it comes to him she wants no uncertainty.

She tugs the plug free and watches the water go down the drain. She knows there is no such thing as no uncertainty. Knows she has unrealistic expectations when it comes to him. But she's lost so many people she has loved, and she can't make that same mistake with him. He means too much.

The last of the water disappears down the drain between her feet with a loud slurping sound. Reaching over the edge of the tub she grabs a terry cloth wrap and carefully covers herself with it, fastening it under her left arm. She doesn't really want to call him in, not after reading his words.

Words powerful enough that she can almost feel his lips on her skin. Flushed and maybe a little embarrassed at the thought of facing him immediately after reading what amounted to a fantasy involving her and him. Not embarrassed that he captured it in print, but more embarrassed that she had shared the same fantasy. Perhaps nervous that he could read it on her, that flickering ember deep inside that ached for his breath to breathe it back to life. Turn it into a flame, blue and hot, with his touch. Burning away the ice and snow.

So she struggles to climb out of the slippery tub without tweaking her ribs, and she almost makes it before he knocks on the door and asks if she needs any help. She's not stupid and she knows that if she wants out of his house and back to her job she has to let her body heal. It's just not always that easy to do, she has never had to sit still for so long before.

She calls him in and he acts like a dork, his eyes tightly closed as he carefully shuffles his way to the edge of the tub.

She tells him he's going to end up hurting himself and that he can open his eyes. He does so with a leer in place, only to find her covered. Sticking his bottom lip out he pouts and she wants to tease him with a flash of thigh, but she knows that will just lead to trouble. Instead she holds out her hands for him and together they get her out of the tub.

He tells her he'll meet her in her room with the first aid supplies in a moment. She nods and he leaves her alone.

He won't soon forget the expanse of her thighs, or the indentation of her collarbone. Little beads of water running down shoulders and disappearing under the dark blue wrap, which makes her skin look pale and delicate. He won't forget the urge to follow those droplets with his tongue, follow them down her chest and pull the wrap free. Watch as they run over her breasts.

He chases the thought from his mind as he closes the bathroom door. He thinks about her a lot lately in various situations, most of them without clothing. When he went to print the chapter he was working on he realized that most of it would be unusable. But he wanted to see her reaction to it. Wanted to see if her cheeks would pink up, if she would stumble over her words or look away when he saw her.

Wants to know if her heart races. If she pictures them making love. If she hears his voice when Jamison whispers in Nikki's ear. Or wants his teeth on her skin.

His frustration is a living thing. It taunts him at the most inopportune moments. But he finds he can not shake it. He knows it is because she is so close to him all the time. He has no place to hide from it, or her, and he fears that one day soon he will snap. Will pull her close and tell her he needs her. Needs to become one with her. Fears he will explode if she doesn't let him in.

So he tries not to think about it. Tries telling himself that she is injured. That she needs a friend, not a horny writer with an over active imagination. That he is a jerk for even thinking about trying to pursue something more when she is still so obviously effected.

But it isn't easy.

Rummaging through the hall closet he finds the first aid kit and pulls out some tape and scissors. The bathroom door opens and he can smell her as she steps across the hall to the bedroom. Clean and fresh. He wishes he could wrap his arms around her and breath her in.

She hurries to his room and closes the door, throws on a tee shirt and some loose fitting lounge pants, her outfit of choice these days. It's comfortable and easy. But she won't deny that she can't wait to get back into her heels and button downs. He doesn't look at her the same way as he used to. There is something softer. There is something more protective. She misses the way he used to check her out daily. Even though she still sometimes catches him looking... she doesn't feel it. Doesn't feel attractive or desirable. And she wonders if he is only trying to keep up pretenses. But then he does something, like write an incredibly steamy sex scene between the two of them, and she has to wonder if he's just trying to bottle it up while she's here.

Like she's been doing.

She can't say she blames him, or that she would appreciate his hungry eyes on her when she was so obviously not up to anything physical. But she knows that despite her lingering aches and pains... she could move on. She just doesn't know why she won't. Why staying on his couch, her feet in his lap, seems so appealing and safe? Why she doesn't want to let him out of her sight? Why she needs his touch, when she never did before?

She doesn't really need him to tape her ribs, she can handle the pain.

But she wants him to.

Wants to feel his hands on her skin, wants him to see what he hasn't been able to ask to see. She doesn't know why she wants to share it with him. But maybe he deserves it. Maybe if he sees with his own eyes how it has almost healed, he will...

What?

Trying not to think about it she moves to open the door then moves back into the room, standing with her back to the door in front of his bed.

The floor creaks in the hallway just outside of his door, she always knows when he's there because of it. Sometimes he sneaks in after everyone is asleep. Sometimes he stands over the bed and just stares. She knows he's afraid he'll lose her, so she doesn't move. Pretends to sleep and lets him believe she doesn't know.

Because sometimes she slips downstairs and does the same thing. She never stays for long, just long enough to reassure herself that he's okay. Still breathing. Peaceful. Her therapist thinks that if she talks to him about it, her little panic attacks will start to occur less frequently and possibly cease altogether. But then, she also thinks it might spark some memories and Kate has tried and tried with no success to remember already, so she's not sure she believes talking about it with him is going to make any difference.

She stands before him in a loose black tee shirt and deep red lounge pants. Her hair hangs loosely over her shoulders, little droplets of water dropping from the tips and soaking into the cotton of her shirt making darker spots of color across her back and chest.

"Castle?" She questions turning her head toward him as he stands in the bedroom door with the medical tape and scissors. Hesitant and unmoving. This was something his mother did for her. Something Alexis would volunteer for. Something private, something he never got the chance to help her with.

He realizes now that he has never even seen it. Never seen where the bullet entered her. Never witnessed the injury that almost cost her life. That almost cost his happiness.

"Are you going to do this or not?" She asks impatiently.

"Yeah, sorry." He says as her words shake him from his thoughts and he strides into the room with more confidence than he feels. He is strangely upset by the fact that he hasn't seen her wounds but also relieved that he hasn't. Perhaps a bit uneasy about seeing them now. Seeing how one second has marred her perfect skin forever.

"I can wait until Martha or Alexis get in. It's not so bad." She is suddenly uneasy herself. Maybe asking for his help was a mistake. It was one thing to have him avert his eyes and help her from the tub, another entirely to have his hands against her bare skin and his eyes memorizing her form. She could pretend indifference, that she didn't feel his touch, much easier when his warm skin didn't make contact with hers. Maybe she was being selfish; wanting it all when she was giving him nothing.

"Don't be silly. It's not a big deal. I want to do it." He insists as he sets the tape and scissors on the bed behind where she stands and places a hand gently on her shoulder. "I want to see what he did to you."

"It's just a scar." She whispers softly, refusing to look in his direction.

"It's evidence of the hole that was ripped in our lives. In us. I want to see what has made you so determined to close me out." His voice is serious, his tone carrying a hint of injury.

"I'm living with you. Sleeping in your bed even. I hardly think that counts as cutting you out." She feels guilty because she knows he is right. Knows she has been ignoring him on a deeper level. Knows she has been trying to protect herself by pushing him away.

"And yet if I asked you to tell me what you're thinking, you'd tell me you weren't thinking about anything. I've been around you long enough to know that there is never a moment when your head is empty." This time he refuses to let it go, this time he pushes.

"Rick, I'm tired. Can we not do this now?" She's not ready. Not ready to face the elephant in the room. Not ready to talk about how scared she is, was... Not ready to talk about how much she cares and does feel, even though she's become so very good at pretending to be dead inside.

"That's the problem, Kate. We don't ever do it. If you don't want to talk about it, fine. But I almost lost you. I held you while your life slipped away and there was nothing I could do about it. I couldn't get your blood off of my hands..." His voice cracks and her heart clenches as his grip on her shoulder tightens and her eyes water. She knows that fear too. Hates that he has to feel that way about her. It isn't fair to him.

"I'm fine. I'm here, aren't I?" She argues, hoping that she can make him mad enough to forget the real reason he wants her to talk to him.

"No. Not really. This afternoon on the couch, do you realize that is the most you've said to me since before you got shot?" His tone stays calm and even though.

"I think you're overreacting just a bit, don't you?" She questions, frustration evident in her voice. Like he is trying her patience by pushing things. Good, he thinks, because he doesn't care. She needs to face it.

"No." He pulls her shirt up slowly and her hands cup her breasts, gently trapping the fabric of the shirt between her hands and her naked skin. Protecting her modesty as he lifts the shirt over her shoulders, leaving it bunched around her neck, her arms still trapped in the sleeves. His finger traces over the skin around the pink mark where the bullet entered, running over the thin line the surgeon's scalpel had made when he opened her further to find the missing bullet and put her back together.

She is beautiful.

He's always known that. But as his fingers tickle her skin, her warmth spreading through him with the direct contact, he is certain there has never been a more beautiful woman. He wants to count every freckle with his lips pressed softly against them. Wants to murmur sweet nothings into her flesh, brand her with his words. Mark her as his.

He wants to feel each muscle in her back move, watch them just under her skin as she arches her back in the morning. Wants to press his ear to her back, listen quietly to her heart, feel her pulse in his cheek. Wants to meld muscle and sinew, bone and blood, with his own. Sink his fingers into her hair, her hips, her heart, until they are one person. Until she can't get away from him ever again.

His breath hot on her skin he whispers, "No. I don't think I'm overreacting. I know you are trying not to react. I don't know if you think it will hurt less by trying to push away or if you're just scared to deal with it. Either way it makes you a coward."

He waits, the air is chilly and he thinks she will pull her shirt down and leave him with an angry look. But she doesn't move.

"Are you a coward, Detective Beckett? After everything we've been through together, I never would have pegged you as one. I thought you were fearless. I thought you were strong. But now you're just being obstinate and stupid."

He continues to goad her as his fingers grow bolder. Circling her wound then skittering across it, there is an absence of sensation when he hits it just right. As if her flesh had formed a protective barrier around the physical wound, just as her mind had done it's best to protect her emotional ones. He leans in closer and she doesn't stop him as his fingers run down her sides, tracing her ribs, ghosting lightly over her hips and back up.

"You know what else, Kate? Two months ago you would have castrated me for this. Now you're so busy trying not to feel anything, you can't even tell me to stop. Don't you want me to? See I have this theory..."

She wants to hit him and kiss him at the same time. Wants to turn in his arms and throw hers around him, let herself get lost in his strength for once. Be the woman he wants her to be. Or maybe just be a woman for once. Find some comfort and forgiveness in his arms.

The heart wants what the heart wants, and right or wrong hers aches for him. She knows he would make things right if she let him. Knows that all she has to do is give in.

"...I think you don't want me to know. I think, you think that admitting it hurts too much, makes you weak. I think you're under the impression that I'm better off not knowing. I think you think I don't understand. But I also think you know that's wrong. That I could never think of you as anything other than extraordinary. It scares you that you want to be here, that I'm not going to let you hide from this. From us."

He slides his hands to the front, pulls her back gently into his embrace and whispers.

"I'm right here. It's okay. Wake up."

She closes her eyes and breathes in deeply. She wants to tell him she's awake.

Images flood her mind and she remembers. Remembers how cold she was, like she was floating in a pool of icy water as the world slowed down and then stopped. Remembers how he sounded like he was a world away, her heart pounding loudly in her ears.

Remembers that fear, gripping her lungs, making breathing difficult as she waited that impossible second. Watching the killer's body crumple to the ground then feeling her knees give out in relief when she knew he couldn't shoot Castle. Couldn't do anything. That second where she didn't care if he was dead, not as long as Rick survived.

Then a new fear settling in her gut as Castle's face fell. The panic in his voice translating to a gnawing fear that everything wouldn't be alright after all. His blood soaked hand and the fog in her brain that wondered where all the blood was coming from. The confusion. The bitter taste in her mouth. Wanting to comfort Rick as he yelled at her to stop. Not understanding what he wanted her to stop doing.

He's right. There wasn't anything she could have done. But that doesn't mean there isn't anything she can't do to make sure it never happens again.

She knows he wants her to tell him she remembers. She knows he wants her to play with him, pretend that it is all going to work out. That they can go back to how it was before.

"I'm not sleeping. Please, let go of me." She whispers instead. She knows there is no going back. Not after she has been in his arms. Not after his fingers have danced across her skin and his breath has warmed her neck. She knows they can never work together in that same capacity that they once did.

Not if she stays. Not if she gives in and lets him take even more of her.

She tells herself that she's protecting them. Because she knows she can't lose him. Can't risk having him walk out of her life later. So when he backs away with that hurt look, she tries not to watch. Tries not to feel it in her very bones.

"I think that..." She hesitates.

"I think Alexis will be home soon if you want her to..." He gestures to her ribs.

"Yeah, no. It's okay they don't hurt so much anymore." She pulls her shirt down quickly and grimaces at the movement.

"Let me." He sighs and picks up the tape.

She gives him a leery look and he can't say he blames her. His fingers still tingle from their earlier contact. And even if she won't admit it, he knows she still feels his heat on her skin.

"It's just business." He promises as he cuts a piece of tape and slips his hands under her shirt. Studiously avoiding any area that would be deemed inappropriate.

She swallows the lump in her throat and wonders how much longer she can get away with lying to him about it.


	5. to make numb

AN: Well folks, this is it. The last chapter. Thank you all for coming on this ride with me, and for sharing your thoughts and feelings so generously. This story was never meant to be a long one and really started with two scenes and a concept. I am honored by its reception, and hope that it has been enjoyable. So thanks.

This chapter tests the limits of its rating.

* * *

**numb:** -verb

5. to make numb

* * *

"Happy Anniversary, Detective." He smiles and sets a cup of decaf and a muffin with a candle sticking out of it on her desk in front of her.

"Castle." She hisses and pulls the candle out before anyone can see what he has done. "I've told you this every year for five years now. Today is not an anniversary." She shoves the candle in her desk drawer and quickly slams it shut, drawing Ryan and Esposito's eyes for a moment. After giving them both a glare that could freeze hell, they quickly turn back to their work and she turns her attention back to him.

He smirks as he sits in his seat at the end of her desk and sips his coffee, surprised she doesn't complain about the decaf. Amused at her reaction to his anniversary present.

"You sure about that?" He teases. She groans.

"Yes, I am quite certain that if today was any kind of anniversary, I would remember it." She knows why he does this every year, and really she thinks it's kind of sweet of him. She thinks he knows she enjoys it as well, and that is why every year he continues to do it, even though she always plays it off.

She also thinks he likes teasing her though, and can't resist the opportunity to watch her blush. Not that she has anything to blush about. But people ask questions, and she still remembers the first year he did it. Ryan and Esposito hadn't let her live it down for an entire month, and they hadn't even gotten any real details.

It's embarrassing when people ask her what they are celebrating, and he knows it. She has never liked her private life broadcast, and his choice of anniversary does just that. The entire precinct certainly has no need to know.

"I don't know whether to be offended or not. I had hoped that you would remember this year." He continues to push the issue and she looks around to see if anyone is listening to their conversation. She knows why he thinks it's an anniversary worth celebrating. But she has managed for five years to keep the exact reason between just them, despite all the questions every year. She has no desire to let it slip now.

"Drop it or I won't let you come with me today." She threatens quietly, picking up a pen and jotting down some notes.

He smirks and sets his coffee cup on the desk. Leaning forward and invading her space he runs his finger along the edge of her hand, where it rests on her desk, at a tantalizingly slow pace.

"Why Detective, I didn't know you were interested." he feigns surprise.

"Oh grow up, you know what I meant." She growls.

"I don't know why it is so hard for you to admit." He sits back and crosses his arms as she sets her pen down and looks at him.

"Because, it's not an anniversary. It's not something people celebrate. You just want an excuse to play." She answers under her breath and picks his coffee up to take a sip. He wondered how long she would last.

"I think we both know I don't need an excuse." He takes his coffee from her and she frowns before picking up her own and swallowing with a grimace as he continues talking. "Maybe I'm just glad it happened? Maybe I think it's important? Don't you?"

"Yes, but that doesn't make it an anniversary." She picks up a stack of papers and organizes them, tapping them on the edge of her desk to align them.

"Must I define anniversary for you?" He asks, clearly exasperated that they are going to have this conversation again. She wants to tell him that he does, just to see if it pisses him off a little. She knows it won't—he loves the sound of his own voice—so instead she takes a different route.

"Do you celebrate the day you started shadowing me, every year?"

He smiles, certain he knows where she is going with her new line of questioning and certain he can derail her new objections just as easily as her old ones.

"No, but maybe we should." She really shouldn't give him more ideas about milestones. Otherwise she could be facing anniversaries like: 'the first time she ordered him to stay in the car' or 'the first time she told him he wasn't allowed in the interrogation room.' Knowing him, he would probably throw in something along the lines of: 'the first time we wore the same color shirt' as well. Really the options were limitless and it would probably be best if she steered him away from topics involving _them._

"What about the release of your first book? Do you celebrate that every year?" She knows he doesn't.

"Again no. What do you think you are getting at with this?" He plays along, waiting for her to say something that he can pounce on. Something that will make her whole brilliant plan backfire.

"Simply, that because something happened doesn't mean you memorialize it every year. Anniversaries are for things like marriages." She says as she closes her stack of papers in the appropriate file and digs through more paperwork. It has been stacking up, but they have been overloaded with work. She'll have plenty of time to do paperwork in a few weeks, so she isn't worried about it.

He knows he has her. Marriage... it's too easy. She should really try harder next time. He knows she'll blame the decaf, say she's not awake yet.

"So the joining of two people is worthy of an anniversary but this isn't?" He smirks again. "Because I have to tell you that your definition is a bit-"

"Shut up. Shut up now or you won't live to celebrate this next year." She says as she stands and Montgomery approaches her desk with a file. Castle picks up his coffee cup and hides his amusement behind the rim. He would never push it further than where she wanted to go, but he finds their morning banter enjoyable.

Montgomery gives him a strange look as he leaves and Kate sits back down and puts her head in her hands.

"Do you think he heard our conversation?" She asks, her words garbled by her hands. She really is cute when she gets all flustered and embarrassed, he notes.

"Becks, he has no clue. Your secret is still safe. Though I have to admit it is a little heartbreaking to see the desperation you have about keeping it secret. They all know it happened. I mean, that much is obvious." He smiles glad at the fact that it is so apparent. Every minute of every day.

She sends him a scathing look.

"You know what will make this better?" He asks, fully aware of what her wrath is like at this point. Knowing that his best option is probably just to let it go.

"If you shut up about the mythical anniversary?" She smiles but he can tell her jaw is clenched and she's trying not to grind her teeth in irritation, so he decides to let it slide.

"For now. But I'm not done yet." She rolls her eyes.

He sticks to his word and doesn't bring it up again until lunch, when they are alone in her car after asking some follow up questions, eating hot dogs from a nearby vendor. Then he returns to the interrogation with full force. She doesn't mind when they are alone. He can say whatever he wants to then. And so he does.

He recounts the reasons why he thinks it's worth celebrating and she agrees with him. She doesn't deny that it was a big step.

She remembers it all very well.

She had gotten up in the middle of the night, unable to sleep, five years ago. It had been a common occurrence back then. After her memories came back, her sleep had been erratic and unpredictable. When she did sleep, it was only in short spurts and so light that even the slightest noise could jar her from it.

It didn't help that she was wrapped in his blankets, staring at his ceiling, her body aching with more than just the remnants of her injuries.

She had planned on breaking the news to him the next day. She couldn't stay with him any longer. She was well enough to be on her own. Should be on her own and have their lives and relationship return to normal. He saw too much of her. They had become too comfortable with each other. His bold moves of only a few days previous, had proved that to her.

What she needed was to move out and get back to work. To put the shooting behind her. Not to sit around his apartment all day wasting time with him, and having his constant closeness pick at every last one of her nerves and reserves. What she needed was space, and he needed it too. Even if he didn't want to admit it.

So after an hour of watching the shadows dance on his ceiling, she slipped quietly from his warm bed and crept down to the kitchen. She told herself that she wasn't lonely. Wasn't secretly hoping he would still be awake on the fold out bed in the living room so she didn't have to sit in the dark by herself. Even if it was three am. No, what she told herself was that there was leftover cherry pie in the fridge and that she simply had a case of the midnight munchies.

Her hand gripping the railing, her bare feet light on the cold stairs, she slid like a ghost in the night down to the main floor and paused. For a minute, as the cold night air blew against her bare legs, she thought of retreating back up the stairs.

What if he was awake? He would certainly mock her for coming downstairs in nothing but an over-sized t-shirt. His in fact. Why had she let that fact slip her mind? Up to this point she had been so careful about it. Even if he had seen most of her naked skin by then, she still felt strangely shy about her lack of leg covering.

Who did she think she was kidding? She didn't want pie. She wanted his voice to soothe her troubled mind. She wanted to _accidentally_ fall asleep against him. To know he had her back while she slept. A somewhat troubling development or side effect of her memories coming back, was the knowledge that it had been entirely out of her control. She wasn't good with that, never had been. It made her overly cautious. Overly protective. And it had her jumping at small things, and unable to stay asleep.

A problem his presence some how eradicated.

Still, she felt foolish for becoming so needy. The shame burning her ears, she turned to return up the stairs but a muffled moan from where Castle slept had her pause.

He tossed in his sleep and she remained frozen, afraid that one slight movement would cause him to come awake fully and catch her.

'No.' He moaned again and curiosity won out. She tiptoed softly to the couch, peering over the back at him as he slept.

His face was drawn tightly, brow furrowed in what appeared to be concern. He slept on his side, his knees drawn up slightly.

'Don't.' His hand clawed tightly at the sheet that tangled between his legs as they tried to kick free.

She was torn between waking him from an obviously unpleasant dream and making her escape while she still could. He would wake on his own eventually, wouldn't he?

She didn't want to be cruel, but she also didn't want to explain why she was downstairs watching him sleep like an obsessed stalker. So she turned her back to the couch and lifted her foot to take a step away.

'Don't leave.' It was murmured softly, more coherently than his other exclamations. She froze.

Had he caught her? Had he woken up? She was afraid to look.

Slowly she turned her head and cast a look over her shoulder at him.

His eyes were still closed tightly. She sighed in relief and started for the stairs, trying to put distance between them as quickly as she could.

'Kate! Stay!' He yelled. 'Don't you dare!'

It was fear that he would wake the entire building up that had her run back to his side. Not the obvious anguish in his cries. And why the hell hadn't he told her about the nightmares? She wouldn't have made fun of him. She wouldn't have thought he was less. They were normal after that kind of trauma.

Her hands landed on his shoulders as she knelt lightly on the bed next to him.

'It's ok. It's just a dream. Wake up.' She prompted softly as she shook him lightly. 'It's me. It's Kate. I'm here. I'm not going anywhere.' She murmured, not paying attention to her word choice.

His hands shot up, wrapped around her back and pulled her tightly to him as he rolled onto his back fully. Her knees gave out and she crashed down, laying flat against him as his almost violent reaction sent a wave of pain through her. She gasped, air rushing into her lungs through her open mouth mere moments away from his.

His eyes opened and locked with hers in the darkness. Her hurried breath rushed against his lips as her pain shifted to something else.

She could see it, even in the dark. Could feel it in the way he held her close, now fully awake.

'Sorry.' He mumbled his breath warm against her lips. 'Sorry.'

'Ddd...don't be.' She stumbled and swallowed, trying to wet her dry throat. Heat burning her cheeks.

Alive.

Her skin itched as a warm familiar feeling settled low in her body. She shifted her weight slightly, squirming against him, one leg settling between his legs. Her shirt had ridden up in the tussle and the cold night air kissed her right side, black boyshorts on full display.

His hands wandered down her back, thumbs finding naked skin as they traveled over her hips and back up. Slowly, painfully aware of just how close she was. How close he wanted her. How he could smell just the slightest hint of cherries, tainted with something more.

'You should be sleeping.' Her hands were trapped against his chest, she wanted them free to explore, but the way his fingers toyed with the edge of her underwear was too intoxicating to protest. His body's warmth too comforting to move away from. The soft rumble of his voice vibrating through her chest. The way his gaze lingered on her lips.

'Why didn't you tell me about the nightmares?' She asked as she _accidentally_ rubbed her nose against his cheek. She was playing with fire. The way her soft breasts cushioned her body against his, her short little breaths felt through his whole body, ricocheting through the emptiness. Happy little bullets of pleasure that breathed life back into him.

'It isn't a big deal. Why didn't you tell me this would feel so...' He paused.

'Amazing.' She mumbled against his lips, her mouth falling open as she continued to pant softly. Heating his lips and begging for a response.

'Life affirming.' His tongue brushing her top lip, slipping into her open mouth and darting back out as he emphasized his first word.

'Castle.' She moaned and shifted against him. He grunted sharply jerking his hips against her in response. 'Shut up and kiss me.' She hissed and closed her mouth around his top lip, nibbling lightly.

Flipping her on her back, he rolled on top of her and feasted on her lips. She cried out in momentary pain and surprise as more pressure was placed on her injuries, her lips breaking from his for a second.

He tried to retreat but she wrapped her arms and legs around him, pulling him back. Capturing his mouth again and slipping her hands under his shirt.

'Don't want to hurt you.' He objected against her mouth. She smiled.

'I won't break.' She scraped her nails down his back, slid her hands under his sleep pants and pulled him flush with her again. His added weight a delightful pressure in counterpoint to the dull ache in her back. 'See.' She whispered in his ear then caught his earlobe between her teeth as she rocked against him.

'Isn't this what you were trying to do the other day?' She questioned as his lips moved against her neck. 'Trying to make me feel something?'

Meeting her eyes with an evil grin, he removed her wandering hands from his pants and came to his knees. Her legs still wrapped around him she pulled herself closer until she was flat against his knees then let her feet rest on the bed on either side of him. Her shimmy down the bed had caused her shirt to ride up even more and Castle wasted no time in yanking it over her head and tossing it across the room. Running his hands over her stomach, up her sides, teasing the sides of her breasts, and enjoying the unobstructed view.

'Is it working?' He questioned then leaned over and kissed her chest, right above her racing heart. Her fingers tangled in his hair.

'I don't know.' She grunted as he sucked on her skin. 'Try again.'

'Why...' He paused to punctuate his words with kisses. 'Detective Beckett.' His lips working their way back to her mouth. 'This doesn't seem like...' Her tongue against his distracted him for a minute.

'...appropriate behavior.' He finished after a moment. One hand on the bed on either side of her head, her hair a tangled mess under her and between his fingers. Soft locks that tickled his skin.

She pushed lightly against his chest and he sat back on his knees. Locking her arms around his neck she followed him and landed in his lap. Relinquishing him of his shirt, she pressed their bare skin together and he groaned. His hands spread on her back holding her close but avoiding her injury.

'Well, writer boy...' She whispered as her hands ran down his back and up again. 'You can think of it as physical therapy.' She kissed her way across his collarbone and back up his neck to his other ear. 'You touch me and make me feel something...' He groaned as her tongue traced circles against the sensitive skin behind his ear. '...and I'll touch you and make you numb.'

And so he had. That night and many more after.

Which is why she thinks it's silly that he celebrates that night every year.

Especially when he gives her grief about remembering their real anniversary.

Sure the road hadn't been smooth sailing, and there had been a lot of adjustment needed on both their lives before they found compromises that worked. She had even moved out a time or two along the way. But that night had been the beginning of a new relationship between them. It hadn't ended in any confessions or declarations of love—those came later. It had ended up in his bed, together. Just as the next morning had started.

"You know what I think, darling?" He smiles, he's not allowed to use that word at the precinct. She's very strict on her rules. Once he called her Kate at work and she made him sleep on the couch that night. So he delights in using all those terms he can't use in public when they are alone on a case.

"Hmmm?" She is distracted by something in the file on the seat between them, so he picks up the file and tosses it in the backseat. "Hey!" She tries to reach for it but he grabs her arm and laces his fingers through hers to keep her from trying to retrieve the file again.

"Fine." She rolls her eyes. "What do you think?"

"I think we should go someplace private and celebrate." He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively and she laughs and looks down. Directing his eyes to her swollen stomach.

He smiles. Takes great pride in knowing that someday soon Alexis will have a sibling.

"I think we already did." She pats him lightly on the cheek. "Besides honey," She uses the term sarcastically. "...every part of me aches. Which is your fault as well. I swear if this kid doesn't come soon..."

He rubs his thumb against her hand and leans in to place a kiss on her cheek, then whispers:

"I'll make a deal with you... You touch me and make me feel something, and I'll touch you and make you numb."

"I really hate you some times, Rick." She murmurs as she turns her head and lets him kiss her soundly.

"Liar." He smiles then whispers. "Happy Anniversary."

"Happy Anniversary." She smirks. They aren't that far from the loft, and he's right. It is a special day. Why not?

"You have half an hour."

He figures if he gets her inside quickly he can talk her into twice that.

"Why Detective, we best hurry then."

Rolling her eyes she turns the key and they head home.


End file.
